


PS. I love you

by ManagingMischief



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, James Lives, James Potter Lives, M/M, Marauders Friendship, Marauders' Era, Panic Attacks, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-03-23 23:38:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13798749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManagingMischief/pseuds/ManagingMischief
Summary: He knew Lily was dead.He knew because he’d seen her body. He’d held her in his arms and begged for her to breathe. He’d seen her every night in his dreams, her open eyes staring at him accusingly. Emerald green dulled in death, haunting him, reminding him of what he’d done. Reminding him that he shouldn’t be the one still breathing. Reminding him that he’d stolen her life from her. That she wasn’t supposed to be the one with the open, dead eyes. It was supposed to be him.He knew Lily was dead. He didn't know that even in death, she still had plans.





	1. The Couch

Funerals were weird. That’s what James thought. What he’d always thought. He’d never planned to have an opinion on funerals, it seemed a bit of a fucked up thing to even think about. But here he was, sitting uncomfortably in Molly Weasley’s living room, the trousers of his suit riding up to display his ankles. Ankles that Sirius had informed him were r _eal sexy mate, never seen a pair like them. **  
**_

But no matter how you looked at it. It was weird. Weird to get dressed up for one collective day of grief. Weird to make small talk whilst you shifted uncomfortably in a too small suit and attempted to crack a joke because _that’s what she would have wanted._ It was weird. The whole fucking thing. Weird that according to the world, they were supposed to hold this meeting like a society of grief, with James leading the charge at the helm. It was weird, and James kind of wanted to point that out to his mates—but as the second in command of the grief parade, he hadn’t seen them for at least an hour. 

They’d parked him here, put a drink on the floor beside him, his son in his lap and left strict instructions to _stop talking to people Prongs, you’re gonna freak them out_. James disagreed wholeheartedly, and honestly wasn’t sure why people didn’t _want_ to discuss just how weird this ritual they were participating in was. For example, why were they burying her when they could transfigure her into something? Like a teapot. They could transfigure all dead people into teapots, and continue their lives through the healing properties of a good cup of tea. Surely that was better? Better than putting them in the ground, for the worms and decay that would seep through no matter how many stasis charms they put on the body. 

Funerals were weird. But he’d learned at least, that nobody wanted to hear that opinion from him. Pointing out the weirdness of a funeral, wasn’t the show of grief they’d signed up to witness. A Quidditch game where nobody catches the snitch. Long and eternally disappointing. 

The living room wasn’t his own. The suit didn’t belong to him and the grief? That didn’t either. Not in the way it was supposed to. The gift he’d never wanted and had no idea what to do with. Like getting a Broom for your birthday and being informed it was just supposed to clean the fucking floor. Disappointing and pointless. Grief was pointless. Pointless and out of place in James’ world. 

The couch was lumpy. 

Not the cosy kind of lumps either. Not the kind of lumps you got to know. The ones that melded to your body and dug into all the right places. Not the lumps you embraced with fondness because they’d been around so fucking long they were just the way a couch was supposed to be. 

No. These weren’t familiar lumps. These were the lumps of a couch that had every intention of making its occupier as uncomfortable as possible. Unfamiliar and unwelcoming to the stranger who sat on it. 

He’d feel guilty for how much he’d grown to hate Molly’s couch in the last hour, but that would mean he could feel anything at all and that—well that would be a fucking lie. He might have a couple of new labels now. _Single Dad._ _Widower._ _Man on couch wearing an ill-fitting suit._ He wasn’t going to add liar into the mix. 

He was startled out of his thoughts as one small hand pointed towards the back of a head of red hair. Pointed so enthusiastically that James had to tighten his hold on his kid. He knew why Harry was pointing, knew why the excited babble was leaving his lips and he was lurching forward to escape his dad’s lap. James knew _exactly_ why Harry was so drawn to the back of Molly Weasley’s head. 

“Nah mate...that’s not mama,” he murmured quietly, expecting to feel the familiar stab of pain at his words and surprised, yet relieved, when instead he felt nothing at all. “That’s Molly, don’t look at her for too long or she’ll sense hunger—she’ll reckon I’m not feeding you or something and then we’ll never get rid of her.” 

He was glad, in that moment that he couldn’t see Harry’s face. Glad that he could only _feel_ the toddler slump back against him and could only _know_ , rather than see, that Harry would have his fingers in his mouth. Fingers that he wasn’t _supposed_ to put in his mouth. It was a bad habit, that’s what Lily had said. A bad habit that could make him sick. 

“ _He touches everything James!_ ” she had said, water streaming from her wand as James attempted to hold a delighted Harry’s hands under it. _“He touches everything and then he puts them in his mouth!”_

James had rolled his eyes at the time, rolled them yet continued to assist with the deprogramming of finger sucking Harry—because whilst he knew rationally, it was stupid, knew that all kids put their fingers in their mouths and were just fine. He also knew that Harry getting sick from sucking his fingers was something they could control. A way to keep him safe when everything else was so impossible. When nothing made sense. Keeping Harry safe from germs was _something_. 

He didn’t remove the fingers now. The worst had happened and if Harry wanted to suck on his fingers because he thought he’d seen his mum across the room? Well James was going to let him. An apology for being the wrong parent on the couch. The couch that didn’t welcome them with familiar lumps because out of everyone in the world, out of all people, James wasn’t _supposed_ to be the one sat here. He wasn’t. He was out of place, taking a place on the couch meant for Lily to hold their son on. 

Speaking of out of place, so was the large figure coming to a stand still in front of the couch. The large figure that James had to crane his head back simply to get a good look at them. 

“Potter.” Moody nodded stiffly, taking a sip of his drink as he did so. It made James uneasy, eyes fixed on the drink clutched in rough hands as though that were the weirdest thing about this interaction.

“Alright Moody?” he replied, attempting a brief smile as he clutched Harry a little tighter. 

He gazed up at the other man, desperately wracking his brain to think of something funny to say, something to piss off the Auror and send him off on a tangent about immaturity and children thinking they were ready for war. Anything other than watching the Great Alastor Moody, standing there holding a drink instead of a wand, and obviously wondering at what point he was allowed to escape the Widower on the lumpy couch. At what point was his duty done? 

Because that’s what he was now. A duty. An obligatory stop in the room on his Lumpy Couch of Grief. Shrouded in shadow as only the best and the brave dared to approach the Land of the Lumps. 

“The boy’s looking well.” Moody cleared his throat, one hand reaching out as though to ruffle Harry’s hair, aborting mid movement when James jerked backwards. “...kids bounce back quickly, so they say...never bothered much with them myself.” 

James could only nod, heart pounding frantically in his chest as he clutched a wriggling Harry ever tighter. He would have been embarrassed if he could feel anything at all, would have attempted a quick recovery, made a joke of some kind, saved face in front of the man he both admired and feared. He would have done a lot of things once upon a time, but if that James still existed...they wouldn’t need to be having this conversation in the first place. 

He could tell he’d been silent for too long when Moody shifted awkwardly, taking a large gulp of his drink as his eyes darted around the room. He was looking for an escape and James wanted desperately to give him one, wouldn’t mind one himself if he was honest. But unfortunately for the both of them, they were stuck in this conversation that never fucking ended. A conversation James couldn’t remember how to have. 

It wasn’t personal, he couldn’t remember how to talk to _anyone_ anymore. He’d explain that, only what did it even matter? Moody didn’t care if James could talk to people or not. Moody didn’t care that Harry was sucking his fingers and James didn’t know how to make him stop. He didn’t care because he didn’t know. Nobody did. How could they? They didn’t live on the Isle of Couch. They hadn’t set up camp amongst the Lumps of Doom because nobody agreed that their dead wife should be turned into a Teapot. He didn’t know if they even _had_ teapots or dead wives. Probably not. That was probably reserved for Couchville too. 

“Look Potter—I don’t wanna be part of this, but I’m doing my bit—“ James frowned in confusion at the abrupt change of subject, watching with muted curiosity as Moody pulled out a stack of what looked like envelopes out of his pocket. “Don’t ask me what the bloody hell this is about. They came to my house, but they aren’t cursed—I checked ‘em. They’re for you.” 

James could only swallow heavily as Moody handed him a pile of letters, tied with a red and gold bow, and one alone, not part of the beautifully wrapped pile. A lone envelope in a sea of red and gold ribbon.

For one moment, James was completely fucking terrified that Moody had written him a series of love letters or some shit. That the war had fucked with his head way more than any of them had expected and he was now providing the widower with another option. Or that he was passing on the fan mail from the grief vultures, the fan mail he knew existed yet allowed Remus and Sirius to pretend they were hiding it well anyway. 

“...I always said she was a smart one. Stupid for marrying you—but there was no telling Evans what to do.” Moody continued, obviously expanding in the face of James’ confusion and all James could do was look, _really_ look at the piles of letters he now held in his hand, as Harry tugged delightedly at the ribbon. 

He recognised the cursive at first glance. The familiarity hit him so intensely that it took his breath away. The pain and grief rushing towards him, forcing itself through the wall he’d built between it and himself as he stared at the writing. As he stared at the letter on its own, the letter clearly meant for him. 

> _To my Love (Yes James, that’s you)_

“Go away.” he managed to force out, his voice hoarse with the effort of holding back the emotion that threatened. “Go. Go away.” 

Maybe he should have said thank you. Maybe he should have asked more questions. Ask how Moody had these. Ask _why him_? Why Moody? Question the man on his part in this, on what he knew. On if he thought maybe it meant Lily was alive, maybe she’d survived somehow and could write to him. 

But he knew. He knew because he’d seen her body. He’d held her in his arms and begged for her to breathe. He’d seen her every night in his dreams, her open eyes staring at him accusingly. Emerald green dulled in death, _haunting_ him, reminding him of what he’d done. Reminding him that he shouldn’t be the one still breathing. Reminding him that he’d stolen her life from her. That she wasn’t supposed to be the one with the open, dead eyes. It was supposed to be _him_. 

He knew Lily was dead. He didn’t need to ask those questions. 

He heard Moody leave. Didn’t bother to raise his head as he set the bigger pile of letters next to him and clutched the one meant for him in his hands. He couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t remember how to breathe. Because she was _right there_. Inside the envelope. Right there for James to access. She was there beyond a memory, there to create a new one when James had thought that was over for him. 

He sucked in a ragged breath, tried to get some air as trembling fingers opened the envelope, pulling out a far too small piece of parchment,  eager eyes raking over the words like a starving man. 

> _James,_
> 
> _Don’t freak out, not yet. I’d prefer if you didn’t freak out at all, but I’m afraid that’s probably inevitable. You never did take surprises very well. I suppose that’s understandable, a surprise in our lifetime never tended to be anything pleasant._
> 
> _James, this isn’t a surprise._
> 
> _It isn’t a surprise to me and if you really think about it, it isn’t to you either. Harry comes first. We agreed that and I know you agreed thinking that it was going to be you who died for him, but don’t be so selfish. You can’t be the one making the noble sacrifices all the time. That doesn’t mean you’re not still the brave Gryffindor._
> 
> _It’s harder to carry on. It’s braver to live when you don’t want to and I know you don’t want to. So, I’m going to make it easier, I’m going to help you live and maybe I’m selfish too, because I’m not ready to let you go yet._
> 
> _This is letter number 1, of an undisclosed amount. They’ll come to you when you need them, and don’t try to figure out how, because I’m a genius and you’re never going to. The letters you’re holding now? They’re for Harry. For when he’s ready. For you to decide if he should even get them. He’s young enough now that he can forget me, that one day he can call someone else mum and that breaks my heart...likely breaks your heart too, but we’ll get to that later._
> 
> _The first thing I want you to do?_
> 
> _Go and find somewhere to live. Maybe you still have our house, maybe you don’t. But either way, you’re sleeping on Sirius’ couch and I won’t have it. You need a house. Harry needs a home and you need a fresh start. The war changes you. Death changes you. Grief changes you James and you need somewhere you’re not drowning in memories._
> 
> _...and you’re a grown man who needs to get off his best mates couch. Go find somewhere to live and I’ll see you when you get there._
> 
> _Oh and one more thing before I go, stop telling people you want my body transfigured into a teapot. It’s morbid and creepy and nobody wants to drink your death tea._
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Lily_
> 
> _PS. I love you_

His fingers trailed over the familiar cursive, as though he could feel her somehow. Be closer to her by feeling the slight indents of the paper, committing the scratches of her quill to memory.

“ _Fuck_ Lil…” he laughed to himself, dry and humourless as hungry eyes roamed over the words. 

It wasn’t enough. He wanted _more._ He wanted to hear her voice saying them out loud, wanted to see her eyes when she rolled them fondly.

He wanted more. He wanted all of it. He wanted his wife back.

Yet all he could do was read the words once again, pressing his lips to the parchment as though somehow he was going to smell her again. He didn’t get to do that anymore. Memories could only sustain him so much. He didn’t get to feel, smell or taste. He had to live off the echoes of memories that one day he was going to have to find the words to describe. _For Harry_. He was going to have to find a way to paint a picture of a woman who was indescribable and he was terrified he wouldn’t do her justice.

Yet she’d thought of that. She’d thought of everything as usual. Stacks of letters, tied with a bow, for all the moments they might be needed. For him to judge when to give them to Harry.

> _When sick_
> 
> _When lonely_
> 
> _First Heartbreak_

It was all there, organised it neat piles. Waiting for when they’d be needed. Waiting for the time when only a mother’s words would do. When only Lily would be able to fix it. She’d thought of everything, even her death.

And even now, in death, she was helping them move on. Helping them push forward when all James wanted to do was stand still. Cease to exist. No longer be a person because how did you carry on when the person you loved most in the world was no longer here?

So he read her words again. Sat next to a sleeping Harry on the Lumpy Couch of Grief in a house that wasn’t his and read her words over and over again. And when they were memorised, he closed his eyes and imagined her saying them. Tried to picture how her lips would move, how her face would look, what she’d be doing with her hands. 

He could just about manage it. Could still, in the two weeks since her death, remember those things. He could still picture them, could hold those memories against these new words and almost make her materialise. He had parts of Lily, he had her in measured doses and it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough, but it was something more. 

“Prongs!” 

He lifted his head at the sound of Sirius’ voice, watching with wide eyes as Sirius and Remus made their towards him. Their ties askew, eyes bloodshot from alcohol and the tears they wouldn’t shed around James. He watched them walk towards him with nervous expressions on their faces. 

He watched them walk towards him, each with their own open letter clutched in their hands.

So it began. 


	2. The Teapot

“Are you still pissed or can we stop now?” James poked his head around the bedroom door, raising his eyebrows at the sight of his sullen wife in the bed. “ _C’mon_ Lil, I told you I’m sorry…” 

“Sorry doesn’t solve everything James.” she snapped, green eyes raising from the book James was pretty sure she wasn’t even reading. “It isn’t an automatic pass for bad behaviour.” 

He bit his lip, entering fully into the room and leaning back against the door as he struggled to hide his grin. 

“Well yeah, I mean if old Voldemort decided to do some kinda public apology – I reckon that wouldn’t go down too well.” he shrugged, “But the thing is Lil – I’m _not_ Voldie and I don’t reckon my crimes quite measure up…” 

“You can’t use the Voldemort excuse every time I’m mad at you James!” he didn’t duck in time as the book flew in his direction, wincing as it smacked into the side of his head. “It isn’t _funny_! _None_ of this is funny!” 

He held up his hands, eyes studying her carefully as she hugged her knees to her chest. She looked so small in that moment, sitting on their large bed alone, filled with righteous anger and the inability to admit she might be a tiny bit wrong. She was so fucking beautiful, even when he’d just been violently assaulted by a book. 

“I know…I know it’s not funny.” he approached slowly, as though she were some wild animal. “—but you know I can just replace the rug right? A minor potion spill isn’t the end of the world…” 

“I don’t want you to replace the rug James! I _like_ that rug. Not everything is replaceable – you can’t just fix things because you want to—you can’t _fix it_ —“ her voice broke and James frowned, tilting his head as he studied her intently. 

“Lil—“ he murmured, frowning once more as she simply shook her head. 

“Don’t – James please – just don’t –“ 

Tears were pouring from her eyes, the emerald green he loved so much dulled in her sadness and James swore, no matter how many times he’d seen her cry – it never got any easier. It would always be the worst thing in the fucking world, it would always feel wrong. 

Sadness wasn’t supposed to be a feature on her face, tears weren’t supposed to fall from those captivating eyes. It wasn’t something she deserved, and something James had vowed to make sure never plagued her. 

He was failing at that. In a world that was against his personal mission. 

“You’re not crying about the rug.” he stated dumbly, cursing himself for his stupid brain, or mouth, or whatever the fuck controlled the nonsensical things he came out with. 

“Yes _I am_. I’m crying about the rug.” she insisted, arms tightening around her knees and James wished he was over there holding her. Wished his arms were wrapped around her, instead of watching by the door as she tried to hold herself. “We picked that rug. I _liked_ the rug. It was nice, it matched, it was _supposed_ to be here – it was – it was _ours_ and we – I _liked_ the rug James, we bought it when we bought the couch – in the right order – the way we were supposed to – it – I _liked_ the rug.” 

“Okay then we’ll fix it – we’ll find a charm or ask Molly – Merlin knows she’s practically an expert at household charms. We’ll figure it out –“ 

“We _can’t_ figure it out!” he jumped as she yelled, the sound unexpected in the otherwise silent room. “We can’t figure it out because this wasn’t meant to happen! Not now! You can’t _fix this_ James.” 

“The Rug wasn’t meant to happen? Lil what are you—“ 

“I’m not talking about the Rug!” she screamed and James threw his hands up in frustration. 

“Then what the bloody hell _are_ you talking about Lily! Cause Merlin knows I don’t have a fucking clue!” 

They both froze, the two of them staring at one another, eyes wide as they struggled to get on the same page. He regretted it instantly, yelling back at her, continuing this fight but it was so fucking frustrating. So impossible to not even be given the chance to fix whatever it was she felt was completely beyond his reach. He would apologise – _eventually_ – but not now, not yet. He wasn’t ready to be sorry yet, he wasn’t ready to admit defeat on a problem he hadn’t had chance to even consider. 

“I’m pregnant.” she whispered the words, the sound barely escaping her lips and yet as far as James was concerned they could have been yelled from the rooftops. 

“You’re pregnant?” James stated dumbly, eyes flicking to her stomach as though the evidence was going to be there, when it hadn’t been a minute earlier. “How – I mean – _what?_ ” 

“Do I really need to tell you where babies come from?” she asked with raised eyebrows, her words lacking the usual bite of sarcasm. Tempered by the tears still brimming in her eyes. 

“But I thought that we – that we’d – “ 

“I guess something went wrong, or we weren’t careful enough, or I missed a dose – or the world hates us –“ she waved a hand at the world at large, and for a second, James was inclined to agree with her. 

He wanted this with Lily. Of course he did. His parents had died the year before, one after the other in the worst week of his life. He’d been left, in a terrifying world, as the only Potter. Of _course_ he wanted kids, of course he wanted to be a dad and to have a family with the woman he loved. It’s all he’d _ever_ fucking wanted. But so many things they wanted just weren’t possible right now – not in this world – not living the way they were. It was selfish, to bring a baby into this. Into a world where they couldn’t guarantee their safety, into a war they were losing. 

“It didn’t go wrong…” he murmured eventually, stepping forward automatically at the confused look she shot him. “It’s not _wrong_ Lil – the _world_ is wrong, but we aren’t and our – our _baby_ , that’s not going to be wrong either.” 

“James…” she was shaking her head, eyes pleading with him not to provide her with false hope and James wished more than anything, he could make sure she never had to look at him like that ever again. “Don’t…don’t make it harder…” 

He shook his head, closing the gap between them as he sat on the edge of the bed, one hand reaching out to gently push down her legs, before resting his palm against her stomach. 

“I love you.” he stated simply, “And I’ll love our baby Lil…and I don’t know about you, but I’m not planning on any of us dying anytime soon.” 

“How can we plan for that James?” she glanced down at her stomach, a smaller hand resting over the top of his own despite her words. “How can we bring a baby into this?” 

“How can we _not_?” he countered, smiling softly at her as he shook his head. “What’s the difference between us and them Lil? _Love_. It’s always fucking love. We’re fighting a war because we _have_ to, because _they_ started it. If we don’t live? If we don’t try to live our lives, if we make it all about the next fight or the next death – well then what are we even fighting _for_? We’ve got love Lil, we’ve got lives and a _future_ – that’s why we’re gonna win.” 

She took a deep shuddering breath, green eyes filling with a steely determination and James was sure he fell in love with her all over again in that moment. At her bravery, at her faith in him despite her own misgivings. At the decision she’d already made in her head but wanted him to confirm it. She already loved their baby, that much he knew. She was going to make a fantastic fucking mother. 

“So we’re having a baby…” she murmured, tilting her head to meet his eyes, a soft smile on her face. 

“We’re having a baby.” he repeated, turning his hand to lace his fingers with hers. “….guess I better get ready to bribe Pads. Can’t have our first born getting jealous now can we?” 

* * *

“Just let me _read_ it!” James ran a hand through his hair, not bothering to keep his voice down any longer as he met the eyes of his best mates. “She’s my _wife_! Let me fucking read what she said –“ 

They’d hidden themselves away in one of Molly’s spare bedrooms, one red headed child asleep on the bed, Harry on the other end of it. James had dragged his friends in here as soon as he’d realised they’d received letters too. They were all confused, half drunk and already in a mess from the day – but James had never felt more alive. He’d never felt more determined as he did now. 

“We’re not saying you can’t read them James__” Moony started, only to be interrupted by Sirius. 

“I bloody well am! That’s what I’m saying! Have you _heard_ yourself? You’re like a man possessed and I’m not giving you more to obsess over –“ 

“She’s _my wife!_ ” 

“And she’s _dead_ Prongs! She’s _gone_!” 

The room fell silent, the only other sound the soft snores of the youngest Weasley from the bed, as Sirius and James stared at one another. James said nothing, what could he say? She was dead and he knew that, he _did_. But for the first time since it happened, in the two weeks since his life had changed forever – he felt _hope_. Hope that there was something more, hope that maybe his life wasn’t over. Maybe _her_ life wasn’t over. She was still here, she was still with him. 

“This is bullshit and I’m not standing around and listening to it any longer.” 

The brief sound of clinking glasses and the slam of the door indicated Sirius had made good on his threat and left the room. James spared one glance for his sleeping child curled up next to a passed out Weasley boy, before turning back to Remus. 

“Are you gonna leave too Moony?” he asked, voice hoarse from what he wasn’t sure. Lack of use maybe. “Go back to my wife’s death party?” 

“No…I’m not leaving.” he sighed and James hated himself a little in that moment. Hated himself as Remus took a seat on the spare bed in the room. The spare bed supposed to be occupied by another sleeping Weasley child, but who were likely running around the party, causing mischief, unaware of the drama unfolding in their bedroom. “You know he doesn’t mean it Prongs. He’s concerned…we both are.” 

“I know that.” he waved a hand dismissively, and in another life he would’ve apologised for that. He would have taken it back. He would have taken their concern seriously. Would have been so fucking grateful for it. But that wasn’t his life now. Not right now. That wasn’t his life and all he could think about, all he could focus on and all he had the capacity for was the letter folded neatly in Remus’ hand. “I’ll talk to him after Moon’s—I just – I need to know, I need to know what else she said. I need to – just let me read it?” 

“…this isn’t healthy Prongs.” Remus sighed once more, but despite the action and his words, he was unfolding the already crumpled letter, face resigned as he handed it over. “I don’t think it’s what you want it to be.” 

James didn’t respond, turning his back as shaking hands unfolded the parchment. Greedy eyes roaming over the words as though starved, despite the fact it’d been less than an hour since he’d read his own. 

> _Remus,_
> 
> _I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was going to do this. I have a feeling you’re not going to approve and I can’t tell you in all honesty that I’m looking for you to._
> 
> _I don’t need your approval, but I need your support and I know that’s something you’ve always given freely. You’re a good friend Remus and a Great man and I know despite your misgivings you’ll help with this._
> 
> _I know you’ll help James._
> 
> _He’s a brave man too, but he doesn’t understand the realities of war the way we do. He still thinks, even now, that there’s going to be a happy ending. That’s why I decided to do this._
> 
> _He sang to my bump tonight, some silly Quidditch song I had to pretend to recognise and he talked about the future, about how our baby was going to be a star Quidditch player. He talked about how we’d have matching Quidditch shirts, **The Potters** emblazoned on the back. _
> 
> _I don’t want him to lose hope Remus, I don’t want him to stop looking forward to the future. But I don’t think he’s going into it prepared for the reality._
> 
> _I want to help him and the fact you’re reading this now, means that he needs it. It means that I’m gone and he isn’t. It means that I need you to do what I can’t, and what I know you’d do anyway._
> 
> _Let me be part of it for a little longer, help him start moving forward and suspend your disapproval. Let’s do one last thing together Remus, let’s take care of our boys and after it’s done, we can deal with the rest._
> 
> _I love him Remus, but he isn’t good at being alone._
> 
> _Please trust me. As I’ve always trusted you. One last time._
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _Lily_
> 
> _PS. I miss you_

He shook his head as he finished the letter, turning the page over as though there may be more on the back. Looking desperately for any signs that it’d been tampered with. That maybe there was some invisible ink or a code or something. _Anything_. Just something _more_. 

“Prongs…” his mates voice seemed far away, muted and barely scratching through the howling in his ears. 

“That’s it? That’s all she said?” he managed to choke out, eyes never leaving the letter, as though hoping answers were going to spring from the page. “Is this some kinda joke? Is this a fucking puzzle I’m supposed to work out? What – why isn’t she telling me how to – why is she making it so _hard_?” 

“How to _what_ , James?” he felt a hand on his shoulder and it took everything he had not to shrug it off, tears he refused to let fall stinging his eyes and blurring his view of the letter. 

“How to bring her back – why isn’t she telling me how to _help her_ –“ 

“ _James,_ no…” he couldn’t see Remus but he knew he’d be shaking his head. He knew that tone in his voice, one of shock and hopelessness, one of fucking pity he didn’t want or deserve. “James – you can’t bring her back, you know that.” 

“Then what’s the _point_? If this isn’t – if this isn’t some brilliant plan to get her back, then why is – what’s the point?” 

“To help you move on.” James lifted his head at the new voice from the doorway, the tears almost falling as he met Sirius’ eyes where he leaned casually against the doorframe. “She knows you’re bloody useless Prongs and she knows I’d let you sit on my couch for the next ten years pretending you’re on your stag do. I bet she even knows that if Moony hadn’t of shut it down, I would have let you transfigure her into a teapot if it’d get you to bloody smile.” 

“…the teapot idea is valid, it’s not –“ 

Sirius raised his hand, cutting James off in a way James was going to make a mental note to bring up when he cared about being cut off in the future. In a way that was really actually quite rude, when he was making a valid fucking point about the teapot idea. In a way that actually, for a second, made him feel as though he was back in the dorms, ranting about Quidditch until Sirius was almost falling asleep. In a way that made him feel, for a second, that Sirius still saw him as that person – not as a breakable object. 

“I’m not debating your teapot idea right now, I really don’t think Lily’s funeral in Molly Weasley’s house is the place for us to talk about your morbid teapot kinks.” Sirius shrugged, a smirk threatening the corner of his lips. “Honestly, Prongs…you couldn’t be into a bit of bondage or something normal? My teapot is gonna be traumatised by the time you move out.” 

“As if your teapot isn’t traumatised already.” Remus piped up, skilled fingers plucking the letter from James’ hand as though it was nothing. “You make an abysmal cuppa Sirius, it’s probably _begging_ to leave with James. It’s probably been seducing him all this time so it doesn’t have to live a life of shame.” 

“How _could_ you?” Sirius gasped dramatically, one hand resting against his heart and James decided he couldn’t love them more for the performance, in that moment. “I’ll have you know, I’m a Gentleman and a scholar, and do in fact, make the finest cup of tea.” 

“You’re neither a Gentleman nor a Scholar, but your delusion is impressive.” Remus countered easily, rolling his eyes as he slid the letter into his pocket. 

“I’m hurt and offended Moon’s, you’re a cruel, cruel man.” 

James left them to it, tired all of a sudden as he sat once more on the edge of the bed, staring across the room to where his son was sleeping soundly next to the Weasley boy. He’d felt, for all of a few minutes, that maybe his life was about to have a purpose again. He’d felt that she was still there, the words so clear it almost felt as though she was standing behind him, whispering them into his ear. It had felt real, _he’d_ felt real, now he wasn’t sure he felt anything at all. 

“Prongs?” he started at the voice, shocked to find that Moony was crouched in front of him, Sirius hovering behind. “I think – I think it’s a good idea.” 

“Huh?” he frowned, sure he’d missed something, not sure honestly when Sirius and Remus had even finished their other conversation. 

“What she said…finding somewhere to live.” Remus glanced at Sirius, a quick warning that James wasn’t numb enough to miss. “We’ll do that okay? Let’s do what Lily says….one last time.” 

He could have laughed. If he remembered how. Laughed at how depressing that was and yet how much sense it made. It was _something_ , it was a purpose. For now, he had a way forward, he had Lily’s letter and she was telling him what to do. He didn’t have to figure it out yet, he didn’t have to be alone yet because she was still there. 

In the hardest time of his life. 

She was there. 

She was always there.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do comment and let me know what you think, it really is motivating and if there's anyone you want to see or any ships you're keen on. 
> 
> Also you can catch me on tumblr as chasingxprongs if you want to see some more James in a variety of ships!


	3. The Window

“This one is going to be perfect. You’ll see.” Lily sounded confident, her hand sure and strong in his as they walked down the cobbled streets. 

It was pretty. He could admit that much. The houses not exact carbon copies of one another, but still fitting. The gardens were quirky, filled with life and screaming _family._ It had a certain english charm to it he could appreciate, a typical english village that upon closer inspection wasn’t so typical at all. 

“Is it though? Cause that’s what you said about the last five and I reckon that might have been a lie.” he shook his head, nudging her with his shoulder fondly. “I’m telling you, the flat next to Pads is free — we can move there.” 

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.” 

“Who the fuck even lives in Godrics Hollow anyway?” he glanced around them as they walked the streets, “Nobody under the age of forty six that’s for sure.” 

“Forty six is very specific.” 

“I’m a specific kinda bloke.” he quipped. 

“Godrics Hollow came very highly recommended James...it’s the perfect place to start a family.” 

“Perfect place to _hide_ a family, you mean.” he retorted bitterly, shaking his head as he stared straight ahead. 

“We’re not hiding James….” her hand left his, fingers slipping through his own and he felt the loss for a second, but that didn’t stop his bitter retort. 

“ _Yet_.” 

“Okay so we’ll just live on the streets shall we? We can hold a sign up for Voldemort, _the Potters are here_.” she gestured wildly, her voice raising an octave and James held back a wince. “Merlin forbid we live in a _house_ because that might possibly indicate we’re somehow sheltered from danger.” 

“...I’m pretty sure you’re being sarcastic and I’ve been warned not to respond to angry pregnant shit.” 

“Angry pregnant shit?” her voice was low, a dangerous kind of low and James groaned. Sensing iminent furious Lily danger. 

“Stuff. Angry pregnant _stuff_.” he corrected quickly. 

“Taking out the word shit doesn’t make what that implies any better James!” 

“Alright! Bloody _hell_ Lil! I’m just saying that I’m not gonna argue with you.” he shook his head rounding the corner as he checked off the address on the parchment they’d been given. 

“No. You’re being a stubborn arsehole about taking any suggestion that comes from Dumbledore and trying to blame being called out on pregnancy hormones.” 

He paused, sparing a glance at her, struggling to contain the sheer awe he felt as she took everything he felt and summed it up in one angry rant. She did it all the time and it was annoying as fuck, but still impressive. He liked to think he was a man of mystery, he liked to _think_ he kept her on her toes. Maybe not all ten toes — but six of them at least. Some toes were kept on. But at times like this, when she called him on shit he hadn’t even realised himself — he realised he didn’t have _one_ fucking toe on her. Zero toes. Less than fucking zero. Wasn’t a toe in sight. 

“He’s up to something.” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the admittedly alright looking house that had come into view. “He’s always up to something lately.” 

“Of course he is.” her voice softened, and James felt a hand on the side of his face, turning his head insistently until his eyes met hers. “He’s co-ordinating a war effort. It’s quite literally his _job_ to always be up to something.” 

“We don’t have to be okay with that.” he shook his head, but not enough to dislodge the soft palm against his cheek, not enough to avoid looking into her captivating eyes. Never enough for that. To push her away. “Our lives — our _family_ — it’s not part of the fucking war effort Lil. He doesn’t get to dictate where the fuck we live.” 

“No...he doesn’t.” she agreed and James frowned in confusion at the soft smile that graced her face. “He made a _suggestion_ James, that’s it. Everything else? That’s all us. Take the stubborn lens out of your glasses and _look_ , really look at where we are. Look at it and tell me you can’t see us raising a family here.” 

He turned when she told him to, his hand finding hers once more and he glanced up at the cottage. It was nice and everything, it was _fine_. It was a house and so yeah, okay — the church bells ringing in the village beyond was kinda nice, made it seem homely and shit. But it was still just a house, they could find another house with bells that didn’t come from some shady suggestion of Dumbledore’s. 

“You’re not looking properly.” her voice was firm beside him, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes and squinted instead, as though there was something he just wasn’t fucking seeing. Some magical house property he was too blind to notice. 

“See that window there?” she pointed her other hand, towards the large bay window at the front of the house. “That’s where we’ll hang our Christmas decorations, it’s where we’ll sit together and listen to the bells ring. That’s where you’re going to talk to the baby every night and where, when they’re born -- we’ll sit and try and rock them to sleep.” 

He blinked, tilting his head as he looked at the window again. He watched as he saw them sitting on the window seat, Lily’s back against his chest, her head thrown back against his shoulder as she laughed at something he said. He saw himself with a baby in his arms, watching snow fall outside in the middle of the night. He could hear the laughter of a toddler floating through the glazing, the room filled with light and love, music playing softly as he spun Lily around the room. 

He looked and he saw it. Really saw it. Their family. Their lives. He saw it right there in that window, in the house that wasn’t just a house. The house that was going to be their home. 

“....I guess we shouldn’t start work on that _Potter’s are here_ sign just yet.” 

* * *

“So what do you think Prongs?” Remus’ voice seemed far away, even as the echo in the empty kitchen made it seem larger than life. “It seems like the best one so far.” 

James glanced at his friend, trying to summon up the will to force his features into some semblance of an expression. They were trying. Everyone was. Trying to have patience as they spent every day traipsing through houses. They were trying to remain enthusiastic in the face of James’ nonchalance and he appreciated it, he did. On some deep level, buried underneath the layers of numbness, he appreciated that they were trying. 

“It’s fine.” he shrugged, frustrated with himself even as the words left his lips. 

He’d said that about every house they’d visited. He’d turned his nose up at town houses, at cottages, at flats, at everything on offer. It had been two weeks of searching, two weeks of carting Harry across the whole of England searching for a house they could fill with something. _Anything_. 

There was no flash of red hair as he turned a corner. There was no off key singing coming from the shower, or melodic laughter floating up from the kitchen. There were just walls and doors, empty rooms that would never really be filled. They weren’t right. None of them were right because she wasn’t there to make it a home. She wasn’t _there_ and she was never going to be. 

There was nothing left of her, of their life together. Nothing that existed outside of his head. There were no boxes of her things to sort through. Nothing left of her scent to spread across a new home. It was bare walls and the bare bones of a house, the bare bones of a life he was left to fill when he had nothing to fill it with. 

“Well, so far they’ve all be fine.” Remus commented mildly, and James shrugged off the irritation he could sense, as he glanced out of the kitchen window to the back garden. He squinted into the winter sunlight, looking for his son amongst the overgrown plants. 

“Who cares what Prongs thinks, it’s all about little Pronglet here and he’s having the time of his life.” Sirius’ voice carried through the open window, and James watched curiously as his mate transformed into a familiar dog almost as soon as he’d said it. 

He watched as Harry toddled amongst the Dandelions, in the shade of a giant oak tree, giggles falling from his lips as that same black dog would capture his jumper, only to release him and the game to start again. He watched the sheer, innocent joy on Harry’s face as he fell down in the overgrown grass, only to get right back up again. 

He envied that, the ability to get back up. He envied that look of innocence that he wasn’t sure neither he, nor any of them that had been through the war would ever wear again. He envied his son and yet he wouldn’t wish it any other way for him. 

“So they’ve said that this one is available immediately — there’s a muggle primary school down the road and I know you don’t agree with sending magic children to — “ 

James wasn’t listening as Remus continued to list the qualities for the house, instead he was wandering over to the back door, opening it and heading into the garden. He’d apologise later. Or he wouldn’t. He never really had to apologise lately, he had a dead wife as an excuse to live an apology free life. 

But that didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like something he should be doing. It felt like the James he knew, the James who protected his friends, whether that was their feelings or physically — it seemed like _that_ James wouldn’t like this new one very fucking much. 

He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder as he approached the tree at the end of the garden, but it was gone just as suddenly. Sirius heading back towards the kitchen. Maybe he knew James needed a minute. Or maybe he was uncomfortable being around James alone right now. It didn’t really matter either way. Nothing much mattered. 

Except Harry. 

Harry mattered. 

“You like it here, huh Squirt?” he crouched down, eyes meeting Harry’s as the toddler explored what he seemed to think was a particularly interesting stick. 

“Mama!” came the excited babble and James tried to ignore the pang of something he couldn’t identify that followed that word falling from his son’s mouth. 

“Yeah...I know, she used to play outside with you huh?” he sat properly, cross legged on the grass as he tugged Harry onto his lap. “There’s just me and you now kid, but I reckon we can try out some gardening.” 

“Mama.” came the firm little voice of his son, accompanied by a nod as if he’d decided something. As if that one word said everything Harry needed to in that moment, as tiny hands reached for a handful of grass. 

“Well — if you reckon this garden is mama approved, then I guess that’s good enough for me.” James murmured quietly, gently extracting the grass from Harry’s curled up fist as it started to make the familiar journey to his mouth. “Cause this is where you’re gonna do all your firsts, where you’re gonna run, dig holes, build forts. It’s where you’re gonna learn to fly and hide when you don’t wanna go to bed. It’s where I’m gonna pretend not to see you when you do that — cause mama’s watching you for me anyway.” 

“Mama?” came the innocent question from Harry’s mouth, and James could only nod, tucking the toddlers head under his chin. 

“Yeah Squirt….mama.” he pointed at the sky, pushing through the urge to stop now. To stop talking, stop acknowledging. Because this wasn’t about him. This wasn’t for him. “Cause mama is up there, watching you. She’s probably going crazy right now that you’ve blatantly just eaten grass — but she’s here, even when it feels like that’s really far away. And you don’t get it now, I dunno when you will. You don’t know what the sky is or what’s beyond it, you don’t know mama is watching, but she is — she’s gonna be here when we’re fighting and you come sit here and sulk. She’s gonna watch when you fall off your broom and a hug from her is better than a hug from me. She’s gonna be here, even when it feels like she’s not.” 

James wished he could believe his own words. He wished he could feel her. He wished he could sit under the sky with Harry and feel her with them. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t feel anything but the space where she was supposed to be. He couldn’t see anything but space filled with overgrown grass where she would have sat. He couldn’t see it, but he wouldn’t wish that blindness on his son. 

“Sirius….” James startled as he heard Remus’ voice travelling down the garden, glancing towards the open kitchen window almost guiltily that he was about to be eavesdropping. “Not now. We’re not talking about this here.” 

“Well when are we going to talk about it Remus?” Sirius’ voice was raised, and James winced as he attempted to cover Harry’s ears. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t seem like it’s going to be anytime soon.” 

“He’s grieving.” Remus snapped.

“I know that.” 

“So this is inappropriate.” 

_“Inappropriate_? Are you fucking kidding me Remus?” James shot an apologetic look to Harry at the language, as though that fucking mattered right now. “What’s inappropriate is you using his grief as an excuse. Personally, I’d call that pretty fucking inappropriate.” 

“That’s not what I’m doing.” 

“Bullshit. He might be too fucked up right now to call you out, but I’m not.” Sirius was yelling now and James honestly wasn’t sure if he was supposed to pretend he hadn't heard a thing. Or if he even cared enough to keep up the charade later. “You never want to fucking talk about it. There’s always an excuse.” 

“It’s not an excuse Sirius. It’s a reason.” Remus’ voice was calm and measured.

He was almost cold and in another life, James would have called him out on it. He would have snapped him out of it. He would have told him to stop shutting down Sirius’ emotions with coldness, to stop hiding from his own shit. He would have done _something_ , but that wasn’t this life. 

“Yeah? Well I’m calling bullshit on your reason.” Sirius scoffed, and James could almost see the dramatic shake of his head that would follow. “I’m calling bullshit on all of it Remus. You’ve been pulling this shit for years now. It has nothing to do with James, or Lily. It has nothing to do with anyone but us.” 

“Oh, and you’re the pinnacle of healthy emotions all of a sudden?” Remus’ voice was sharp, cutting. “I don’t work on your time. I don’t wait for you anymore Sirius. You’re enlightened now? Grief has woken you up? Congratulations, really well done on becoming an emotionally capable adult.” 

“I don’t want you to _wait_. That’s the whole fucking point, if this has taught us anything, surely it’s that time isn’t —   _fuck,_ the window.“ James was startled guiltily out of his eavesdropping with the slam of the kitchen window. 

He supposed he should feel something about that. He should feel something about the way they censored themselves around him now. He supposed he should feel something about their conversation, about how this loss, this aching hole in his life wasn’t just his. He should feel and do and say a lot of fucking things. But as he sat there, in the garden with his son on his knee, and an argument filtering through the window, he could only look up at the sky and laugh. 

“You did this didn’t you?” he shook his head, feeling completely fucking insane as a grin formed on his face. “You and your windows filled with life.” 

He laughed once more, pressing a kiss to the top of Harry’s head, grinning as his eyes drifted to the animated, muted argument happening in the kitchen. It might not have been a bay window, there may not have been Christmas decorations, or dancing, or the giggles of a mystery baby. But there was life. There was passion. There was fucking _something_. 

Right now. Something was about as good as it was going to get.   



	4. Red Paint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here there be mild smutt, if you don't want to read that then skip the first part until the first page break. 
> 
> There is also a mild panic attack, it's not exactly a panic attack but if that triggers you, then please don't read this chapter, but if you message me on tumblr I can give you a summary of what happened. 
> 
> As always thanks so much for reading, please comment and let me know what you thought and even what parts of Jily's life you'd like to see! 
> 
> Also, come chat to me on tumblr mischiefmanagedwrites !

“No, this is where I’m drawing the line.” Lily stated, her hands on her hips as she stared up at the wall of their bedroom.  “We’re not having a Quidditch poster above our bed.” **  
**

The poster of the England Quidditch team had been affixed to their newly painted wall. Some calming blue colour Lily had insisted on for various reasons James hadn’t listened to. He had been busy after all, making a list of all the reasons it should _actually_ resemble the Gryffindor dorms and be painted red. A list that had taken so long to put together, the room had already been decorated by the time he was done. 

“You don’t want to sleep below shirtless men?” James questioned, wrapping his arms around her waist, relishing the feel of her stomach, slightly swollen with pregnancy as he ducked his head to rest his chin on her shoulder. 

“Do _you_ want me to sleep below shirtless men?” she quipped, a note of amusement in her voice and James nipped at her ear in response. 

“I want you to sleep below one _specific_ shirtless man….” he ventured, his fingers sliding up under the hem of her shirt, tracing patterns on the warm skin. “Or on top of him, I’m really not too fussy about the position.” 

“I didn’t realise you were that keen for Remus and I to sleep together….” she quipped, her breath hitching as James’ hand slipped down the front of her jeans. “I suppose if it’s something you really want, I’ll make the sacrifice.” 

“I’m sure Remus will be thrilled with your selflessness….” he murmured in response, fingers sliding past the waistband of her cotton underwear. “But I suggest you stop talking about him now....it’s very distracting.” 

“Well we wouldn’t want you distracted when you’re performing a very — _oh_ — important task….” 

James grinned in response, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck, relishing the feeling as she pressed back against him. He loved her like this, loved the breathy moans that fell from her lips, loved the way her hand gripped his own still pressed against her stomach. He loved the way her hips moved ever so slightly, in sync with the rhythm of his fingers as he circled them expertly. 

“You’re right….” he whispered, voice low against her ear as he continued to rub slow, teasing circles with his fingers. “Wouldn’t want to be distracted...maybe we’ll forget the Quidditch poster….” 

He grinned once more when the only answer he received was a breathy moan, tightening his grip around her waist as she sagged against him. 

“There is after all….only one man I want you thinking about in this room.” he paused, smiling against the skin of her neck as he nipped lightly at the spot just below her ear. “....and it isn’t Remus Lupin.” 

* * *

“Right, well that’s the last of it.” Sirius stated, flicking his wand as the last of the boxes landed on James’ brand new living room floor. “I’m pretty sure you’ve bought out every furniture store in the whole of England — how do a man and a baby need so much stuff?”

“You’re the one who said you’d rather die than have us leave that shop without that weird muggle lamp.” James replied, shaking his head as he followed Sirius into the house, a sleeping Harry in his arms, exhausted by the days activities. 

“ _Obviously_. You can’t live in a house without a Lava Lamp James, what kind of man are you?” 

“One who owns a Lava Lamp apparently….” James retorted, snorting as he set a sleeping Harry down on their recently unwrapped couch. About the only thing in the whole damn house that had been unwrapped and set into place. “Where am I even supposed to put it?” 

“ _Anywhere_ , that’s the beauty of a Lava Lamp Prongs, you don’t tell a lava lamp how to improve a room — _it tells you_.” 

“I look forward to all these in-depth conversations I’ll be having with it then.” he shook his head, smiling almost against his will — shocked for a second at the appearance of it, he couldn’t remember the last time that had happened organically. 

“It’ll change your life.” Sirius winked, before glancing at his watch with a grimace. “ _Fuck_ — I’m supposed to be at Hogwarts in five minutes, you going to be alright with all this stuff?” 

“I can probably manage a few boxes….” James rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the stab of panic in his stomach at the thought of Sirius leaving. Of being left alone with his own thoughts. Trying to ignore the fact Sirius had a job interview at Hogwarts and what that meant. 

That he was moving forwards. That Sirius’ life was moving at the pace life was _supposed_ to and James’ was standing still. Frozen in time, too terrified to move forward, hating the present and unable to go back into the past. Stuck, unable to move in either direction, whilst his friends sped past him at a rate he couldn’t keep up with. 

“Mate — I can stay, stand up old Dumbles, play hard to get and all that….” Sirius ventured, and James hated the forced casual look on his face. He hated the way his eyes clouded with concern and maybe pity. He hated being the one on this end of it, the one worthy of pity. He hated that selfishly he wished everyone else was as lost and confused as he was. 

He’d never been a selfish person before, not completely. He may have been a bit of a twat in school, may have made some mistakes and acted like an arrogant git — but he’d never been selfish, not when it came to the big stuff. He felt it now, he felt selfish in a way he never had before and he couldn’t work out how to just turn it off. 

“Nah, what are the young, impressionable youth of today gonna do without your influence?” he joked instead, settling for pretending the selfish urges weren’t there for now. “Merlin forbid they end up as sensible, well adjusted adults.” 

“Can’t think of anything worse.” Sirius shuddered dramatically and James grinned in response.

He was good at pretending too, Sirius was. He was good at going with whatever kind of conversation James wanted to steer them into. Even if he knew it wasn’t genuine, even if he could tell James was suffering under a cloud of misery he couldn’t escape from — he’d still pretend, if James wanted to. Act until the act came true. James didn’t know if it was healthy, he didn’t know if the grief patrol that liked to stick their nose in his business would approve — but it worked for him, it made it bearable to get through the day. 

“Go on — go, we’re alright here. Harry and me….we’re gonna pretend to unpack.” James shrugged, sparing a fond glance towards his sleeping son. “Just don’t — if he asks about us….” 

“Yeah, yeah….I know, don’t tell him anything.” Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re going to have to talk to him at some point…” 

“He doesn’t get to know a damn thing. Let him live with not knowing — I had to.” James retorted bitterly, trying to contain his anger at the older man. 

“Alright….” Sirius sighed, not pushing as he never did now and James wasn’t sure if he was disappointed about that or not. About the active censoring of himself Sirius did. “Have fun unpacking, don’t disappoint the Lava Lamp….it needs pride of place.” 

He’d rolled his eyes in response, rolled his eyes before rolling up his sleeves and pulling out his wand, determined to make a start. They’d been living in this mostly empty house for over a week now, Harry sleeping on his chest on the couch and whilst James was happy to carry on living this half existence — it wasn’t really the best way to raise a kid. At least, he didn’t think so, he wasn’t exactly a kid raising expert. 

He was fine as he opened box after box, as he directed shelves to the walls, as he added the various trinkets and books to them they’d started to collect over the last week. He was fine as he spelled the walls colour after colour, trying to find something that would give the impression of a normal, happy family. Maybe if it did, maybe if the walls had that kind of vibe, James would start to believe it too. 

He was fine until he saw it, the box in the corner of the room. The lone box that had appeared three days ago from Hogwarts. He hadn’t opened it, hadn’t even been curious, anything from Hogwarts screamed _Dumbledore_ and James didn’t even want to _think_ about the old man. Not yet. He wasn’t ready. 

Maybe that was unfair, maybe it wasn’t right to blame Dumbledore for every problem in his life. But he’d _idolised_ him, they all had. He’d put all his faith in the older man, believed everything he said and trusted him explicitly. 

Yet he’d sent Remus to the wolves, he’d sent him _knowing_ that Remus would do it. Remus would put himself in danger to please the man who’d given him a chance at school. Remus would do anything to give himself a sense of purpose, to feel as though he was something, that he was contributing. 

Dumbledore had set off a chain of events that led to distrust within their friendship group. Dumbledore had orchestrated everything so expertly that James couldn’t help feeling resentful that he _hadn’t_ known. He just hadn’t known what was coming? He hadn’t guessed about Peter? He hadn’t thought to _warn_ them? 

It didn’t matter if that was unfair. It didn’t matter that _James_ hadn’t guessed about Peter either and that he should have. It didn’t matter, because there was only so much guilt James could let sit on his shoulders right now — and it was a whole lot easier to give some of it to Dumbledore. Apparently, he was embracing selfishness as a new lifestyle choice. 

The scent hit him as soon as he opened the box, a burned, bitter smell but something _else_ too. Something familiar. Something that had his heart pounding in his chest as he stared with wide eyes into the open box. 

It was things. _Their_ things. Remains from a life they’d built together. Belongings collected throughout their lives alone and as a couple, all squashed into one box. It didn’t seem like much, for a whole life worth it was really nothing at all. And yet as James pulled out a half empty bottle of perfume, lifting it to his nose with trembling hands, it seemed like _everything_. 

It was _her_ , it smelled like her. A soft, flowery scent that reminded him of a bright smile and a fond roll of the eyes. He’d been worried, worried he’d forget the exact smell of her, that all he had were cheap memories, memories that couldn’t recreate a smell, but it was _here_ , right here in his hands. It wasn’t exactly the same, it didn’t come with bright green eyes and soft, caring hands. It didn’t follow after a retreating figure and an infectious laugh, but it was something. It was her in a way. 

“ _Fuck_ Lil….I miss you….” he said, to nobody in particular, half expecting her to answer and half terrified she wouldn’t. 

He distracted himself from an answer that would never come as he pulled out some more items. A red and gold blanket his mum had made for their engagement, one that had sat folded in the window seat. A blanket he’d clutched desperately the night before their funerals, a blanket Lily had draped over the two of them as she’d murmured how she’d always be there. How she loved him, how he wasn’t alone. 

His fingers traced over the patterns, resisting the tears that brimmed in his eyes because he didn’t have time for that. He didn’t have time to let go, because he really wasn’t sure he’d be able to put himself back together again. 

He laughed softly as he pulled out the Quidditch poster, the edges singed and the charms damaged. Now the players stayed static, frozen in time, just as he was. He remembered that poster, remembered the way he’d teased her by putting it on their bedroom wall. He remembered the easy way she’d teased back, remembered how it had ended up living in Harry’s room. It seemed like a terrible kind of irony, that this poster had survived when Lily hadn’t. 

He set it aside, eyes catching a familiar envelope nestled amongst the belongings, his name written in a cursive that made his heart skip a beat. With trembling hands he pulled it out. Unlike the rest of the belongings, this wasn’t damaged by a curse, it didn’t smell charred or old. It was new, _fresh_. A brand new memory of his wife, another letter when he’d begun to doubt if anymore were coming at all. 

He didn’t know where it had come from, or how it had ended up in this box but he didn’t care. He didn’t care because it was _her,_ he didn’t care when all he wanted was to hear her voice, was to talk to her, even if it was just for a moment. And if he couldn’t talk to her? Then reading her words was the next best thing. 

> _Hi darling,_
> 
> _I get the feeling you’re not doing so well right about now. I don’t blame you, I wouldn’t be either. It’s breaking my heart, thinking of you sitting in that brand new empty house of yours with no idea what to do next._
> 
> _It’s strange, to think of you trying to make a life for you and Harry without me, but not so strange that you can’t do it._
> 
> _Red. That’s your favourite colour, it always has been. So go ahead and paint a whole room red, I’m not there to stop you and in this house James, in your house...you have to fill it with all the things you love._

He shook his head, eyes stinging with unexpected tears as he screwed the letter up in his hand. He couldn’t _breathe_ , he couldn’t finish it, eyes unable to read the words and accept them as true. He was hit, all of a sudden with the very real realisation that he was _alone_. He was here, in this house with all these new things that she wasn’t part of and he didn’t want to be. 

Their house had been destroyed and James had _nothing_ , he had nothing here in this house that would mean Lily was a part of it. He had a box of burned remains, a pathetic box of meagre things that was supposed to represent their life together. A box of things that could never equal her presence. 

He struggled, with shaking hands to pull the mirror from his pocket. He didn’t even recognise the face staring back at him as he lifted it. The face with dark circles under their eyes, and a haunted look. The face that had once been full of light and laughter. He didn’t recognise what was there, reflected back at him but that was okay, because he didn’t recognise the inside either. 

It took more effort than he’d envisioned to mumble Sirius’ name into the mirror, his breath constricted, eyes stinging with the bizarre need to cry. He needed a distraction, he needed _something_ , anything but the quiet of this house and the letter that was screaming for his attention. 

“Oh, so sweet, checking up on me already — “ Sirius started, and James saw the second his expression changed, as his eyes clouded with concern. “Prongs — what’s wrong?” 

“I can’t — I can’t read the rest of it — “ James shook his head, the letter clutched in his clenched fist. “I don’t — I can’t read it — “ 

“James — Prongs just breathe for a second — fuck — “ he watched as Sirius fumbled, the reflection in the mirror moving rapidly. “Hang on. I’m coming.” 

He heard the crack of apparition before he’d even registered that Sirius was gone from the mirror. He heard it but he could barely acknowledge it, so wrapped up in his grief that seemed so real all of a sudden, so final and all consuming. 

“I can’t — I can’t _do_ this — “ he shook his head, his heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. “I can’t — I can’t do it — “ 

“Do what? Prongs, what can’t you do?” Sirius pleaded, and James shrugged off the hand that landed on his shoulder. 

“This! All of it — all of this — I can’t do it, I can’t do it and I don’t _want_ to — “ he ran a hand over his face, scrubbing at it as though to wipe away the tears that just wouldn’t shed. He’d tried to cry, tried over and over but he couldn’t, he couldn’t let go yet. He couldn’t openly grieve yet. He couldn’t acknowledge and even trying to now, even admitting that he couldn’t fucking _breathe_ without her was taking everything he had. 

“Prongs….” Sirius’ voice was pained, full of emotion that James knew he was trying to hide too.

“No — no — “ he ran a trembling hand through his hair, shoving the half read letter at Sirius’ chest. “I’m supposed to fill it — fill the house with the things I love and I can’t — I don’t — _she’s_ what I love Pads — she’s _it_ — she’s what I want in this house and she isn’t _here_ — she’s not — she’s just _gone_ ….” 

“Mate….” 

“She’s gone — she’s gone and I — I’m _alone_ …” he took a step back, eyes wide as his back hit the wall. “It’s too hard — I don’t want this.” 

“....what don’t you want Prongs?” Sirius took a step forward, unfolding the letter and his eyes scanning the contents. 

“This — all of it — I don’t — “ he shook his head, his back sliding down the wall as he sank to the floor. “I don’t wanna do this without her.” 

“James you need to read the rest of it.” Sirius stated firmly, holding the letter out towards him, his eyes firm in a way they hadn’t been in a while. 

“No.” he shook his head, unmoved from his position.  “So she can talk me into living a life without her? So she can tell me how the fuck to grieve her? How to stop loving her when I don’t fucking want to?” 

“No...you need to read it because James Potter doesn’t sit on the floor of his living room too scared to read a damn letter.” Sirius stated, crouching down in front of him and James was forced to meet the fierce grey eyes of his best mate. “You’re a Gryffindor, you’re the bloke who played a whole Quidditch match with a broken collarbone. You’re the bloke who found the will to get my name cleared when your _wife_ had just died — you’re James Potter, and you can read a damn letter your wife took the time to write for you.” 

“You don’t even agree with them — with the letters…. you hate this more than I do.” James murmured, although his hand reached for the letter anyway, calmed somehow by the idea that maybe the James he was before was still in there. 

“Yeah well — most of the time Lily was right and I was wrong, I might as well stick to tradition.” Sirius shrugged, stepping back as James opened the letter once more. 

“What did yours say Sirius?” he asked, tilting his head as he surveyed his best friend. Remembering how angry Sirius had been at the funeral, remembering how much he’d disagreed with this entire thing. How he’d stormed out of the room, remembering that he’d never mentioned it since. 

“Read yours now and maybe one day I’ll tell you….” Sirius shrugged, and James didn’t have the energy to argue with him. 

Instead, he took a breath, finally reading the letter. 

> _Hi darling,_
> 
> _I get the feeling you’re not doing so well right about now. I don’t blame you, I wouldn’t be either. It’s breaking my heart, thinking of you sitting in that brand new empty house of yours with no idea what to do next._
> 
> _It’s strange, to think of you trying to make a life for you and Harry, but not so strange that you can’t do it._
> 
> _Red._
> 
> _That’s your favourite colour, it always has been. So go ahead and paint a whole room red, I’m not there to stop you and in this house James, in your house...you have to fill it with all the things you love._
> 
> _Fill it with love and laughter, fill it with Quidditch posters and those red and yellow blankets that remind you of your mum. Fill the bathroom cabinet with all those products you buy just out of curiosity and your kitchen cupboards with every type of bread for those days when all you eat is toast._
> 
> _Fill it with you James. Fill it with the things you love and then I’ll be there too. I’ll be there with you because I love you. Because everything you are, everything you love are all the reasons I love you._
> 
> _Fill the house with things that make you smile, even when smiling seems impossible. Because where you are, that’s where I’ll be too._
> 
> _Start with the little things and the rest will come._
> 
> _Until next time,_
> 
> _Lily_
> 
> _PS. I love you_

He took a breath and then another, reading her words over and over until he could process them properly. Until he could imagine them in her voice, until he could picture the expression on her face and feel her soft hand against the side of his face. 

He read them until she was there, sitting on the floor next to him, looking out at their living room filled with boxes and smiling in support. He read them until he could almost convince himself she really was there next to him, until he could feel a smaller hand pulling him up as stood. 

“Better?” Sirius ventured, and James blinked himself back to reality, resenting Sirius slightly in that moment. 

Resenting him for interrupting. Resenting him for being there when he wanted her. But he loved him at the same time, for making him read it. For knowing, that he needed to. For knowing that Lily always had a way to talk him down, that she always knew what to say and what to do. He loved him for coming, for being there without question, when he was terrified that he had to be alone in his grief. 

“Yeah….” he mumbled, eyes scanning the words on the parchment once more. “Better.” 

* * *

“I know you’re doing that thing where you pretend you’re not going to speak to me right now but you’re going to have to stop that for a minute.” Sirius announced as he stepped through the floo to Remus’ flat — more accurately known as a one room cell in Sirius’ professional opinion. 

They hadn’t spoken properly since they’d rowed in James’ new kitchen. Oh they’d put on a good show, they’d spent nights drinking with James, they’d tossed Harry around the living room and Remus had helped James with mountains of paperwork whilst Sirius got his new house attached to the floo network. But they hadn’t _talked_. They hadn’t re-visited the conversation Sirius kept trying to start and Remus avoided. 

They hadn’t even _tried_ , but Sirius didn’t want to risk another row now. Maybe Remus was right. Maybe the time wasn’t right, or maybe Sirius was just making excuses so he didn’t have to face rejection once again. 

“I’m really worried about Prongs, he’s not in a good —” he continued, pausing as he got a good look at exactly what Remus was doing.  “Moony what the fuck?” 

He froze, staring at the far wall as Remus turned towards him with a guilty look. The far wall that looked like something out of those weird police movies Pete used to make them watch with him. A wall filled with pictures, newspaper clippings, random scribbling and arrows joining things together. 

“If you’re a serial killer I’m quitting life.” Sirius breathed, taking a step closer to get a better look. “ _Merlin,_ Remus — I know you’re bored without a job but this is just fucking mental.” 

“It’s not what it looks like.” the other man murmured and Sirius turned to him incredulously. 

“Oh really? You just felt like redecorating then?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, no amount of decorating could improve this place.” Remus retorted with a shake of his head. 

“The fact you admit that and still won’t come and live with me is something I am going to bring up at a later stage when I’m not concerned about your serial killer tendencies.” he shook his head, stepping closer to the wall so he could read what had seemed like random scribbling. “I mean, really Moon’s, of all the time to have a mental breakdown you pick now to — _wait_ — you’re not — this is — “ 

“Peter.” Remus stated at a whisper, and Sirius wasn’t sure whether he wanted to throw up or punch a wall. “It’s Peter.” 

“Don’t say his name.” Sirius mumbled, unable to take his eyes off the wall as he clenched his fists. 

“Fear of the name and all that….” Remus shrugged, although Sirius could hear the underlying tension in his voice. 

“I don’t fucking fear him or his name.” 

“Maybe not, but you fear what it means….what you want to do to him.” Remus shrugged once again and Sirius turned to him in shock, his own eyes blazing with an emotion he couldn’t identify. “I know you do — because I do too. I want him _dead_. Dead and buried in the ground Sirius and I don’t want it quick. I want him to suffer, I want him to suffer the pain James feels and more. I want him to _feel_ it. I want him to beg for his life and watch his eyes as he realises he won’t get to keep it anyway. I want him _dead_.” 

“Moon’s….” Sirius whispered, his entire body trembling with emotion. With anger, with hurt, with a fucking fury that couldn’t be abated. With _love_. For the man who could articulate with words everything Sirius felt and more and who felt it too. 

“I’m going to find him.” Remus stated, reaching out a hand for Sirius’ as he turned back towards the wall. Their fingers linked together in a way they hadn’t been for what felt like so long, finally on the same page. “I’m going to find him and I’m going to kill him.” 

“No you’re not….” Sirius whispered, his hand squeezing the one in his softly. 

“Yes. I am.” 

“No.... _we’re_ going to. You and I. We’re going to find him together.” Sirius breathed, nodding to himself. “He’ll suffer and we’ll enjoy every damn second of it.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! More to come soon, please do comment and let me know what works and what doesn't, constructive criticism welcome! Come follow me on Tumblr MischiefManagedWrites for drabbles, sneak peaks and general things!


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